The final hour arrives.
The door swings incessantly,
between worlds, I drift
on a double-edged sword.
Life ebbs out of me.
As though an abyss opened up inside my soul
and I kept falling—
deeper into the mouth of darkness
that devoured me.
Condemned to a place where no path goes.
A place full of enemies, dressed in black.
Enemies of time.
It’s the sensation of a nightmare
where you’re being chased, only you’re awake.
Rain fell like a deluge.
Night passed in a fitful wave.
The sky had changed colour, bathed in an orange glow.
The winds shift all around me.
I reach inside my pounding chest
to pull out the poison—
blood stark red.
I become scattered. The remnant—
strands of hair, bone and ash.
Henita is a freelance writer from Durban, South Africa. She loves experimenting with speculative poetry.